


Weight of a Soul

by startaroux



Category: One Piece
Genre: (kind of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Family, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startaroux/pseuds/startaroux
Summary: You sometimes wonder if you're just a commodity to them. If your bones are just the varied pieces of an odd puzzle they put together and decided to keep.
Relationships: Brook & Monkey D. Luffy, Brook & Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates
Comments: 34
Kudos: 103





	Weight of a Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I was having an emotion or two and decided to project onto my favorite character.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/startaroux) || [Tumblr](https://ruskaina.tumblr.com/)

_Will they still love me if I don't make them laugh?_

You're new here, and you know that. You're older than them and wiser and you've probably forgotten more things than they even know.

But even so, they all have a history together that you know nothing of. 

They've been through hardships and celebrations and _so much adversity_ together that you can all but _see_ in how they interact. The looks they give each other and the words they say have more meaning than what’s on the surface.

_All this time you were alone, they were together._

You sometimes wonder if you're just a commodity to them. If your bones are just the varied pieces of an odd puzzle they put together and decided to keep.

What is your substance, though? What is your worth? Why are you here with them? Have you been accepted? 

Or do you merely coexist because you're connected to a whale they met once and can play music for them when the mood is right?

You tell them the jokes you told only to yourself for 50 long years and their laughter sounds like a dream and you feel a warmth between your ribs that you never _ever_ want to fade so long as you live (this time).

But what happens when you run out of steam? What happens when they look to you, expectant for a song to lift their spirits, but your own is resting at your feet, desperate to keep from slipping through the deck into the waters below?

When your light-hearted self-deprecation becomes a beast that is more tangible and _real_. What happens when you can't do the job that you were brought here to do?

_Will they still love me without my songs?_

You cling to them desperately because they’re all that you have and they’re all that you know and they’re all that you need. They’re all you’ve ever wanted.

They're a family. You've come to think of them as _your_ family too, but are you theirs? Truly? 

Are you worthy of this profound love they give to each other so freely?

You've fallen for them. _Hard._

The hollow ache in your nonexistent chest reminds you of that very same love you once had. Your old crew. Your old captain. Dead and gone, but the love's still there. Always, _always_ there.

Can you ever have that with them? This new family who found you, plucked you out of the darkness and dusted you off? 

These people love each other more than wildflowers love the sun. Could you ever fit into this chorus that already echoes in perfect harmony?

_What is your worth? Are you even necessary?_

The swordsman seems to think so.

He tells you about the time when this merry band was only the two of them and how the captain longed for a musician before he even considered finding a cook.

"I swear, he loved you before he even knew you," he says. "And you know how he feels about food."

And if that isn't music to your non-ears.

Your captain seeks you out for a song and you know now that you will _always_ oblige — to the very best of your ability. 

With the final note, he tells you how amazing you are, how beautiful your violin sounds, and how happy he is that you're his musician, his _friend_. How happy he is that you're here and that you're alive, whatever form of _living_ you may be taking at the moment.

You're _his_ musician. You're his _friend_.

"What of the times when I can't bear to lift my bow to the strings?" You ask, unable to keep your worries inside you, for there is no longer a _body_ left to hold them in. "How can I call myself your musician then?"

That's when he tells you about those days when the cook can hardly crack an egg, days when the doctor himself is sick with fever and days when the swordsman needs more protection than what he can give.

"Even if you can't play, you're still wanted here. You're still loved,” a voice says — you aren't sure who. "You belonged here the moment the pirate king laid eyes on you."

And _oh_ , is it wonderful to know this isn't just a job or a ferry to Laboon. This is your _home_.

And when you feel a tug on your coattails, you let yourself get pulled into the warmest hug an old pile of bones could ever receive.

You let your crewmates — _your family_ — surround you. You let them box you in and touch your soul. You are _loved_ and you finally let yourself accept that truth.

_You will never be lonely again._


End file.
